


What Kind of Man

by eidheann



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bucky Barnes's Metal Arm, Hand Jobs, M/M, Pining, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Smut, Wall Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-09
Updated: 2016-04-09
Packaged: 2018-06-01 06:42:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6504874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eidheann/pseuds/eidheann
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve loved Bucky. Steve loves James. He proves it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Kind of Man

**Author's Note:**

  * For [blithelybonny](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blithelybonny/gifts).



> This was a challenge gone wrong. A PWP inspired to kickstart my muse and get my writing mojo back. I tossed out a "WELL PROMPT ME THEN" to Distempered, and we both forgot who we were talking to because she prompted me some metal arm or mask kink. She's getting pining and hand jobs.
> 
> But! My first attempt at Metal Arm kink for you, bb, because you are wonderful and I love you <3
> 
> Thank you to capitu -- not her pairing, firethesound -- dirty enabler, and distempered for this. I wouldn't have gotten it done without you. <3
> 
> (Title taken from Florence + the Machine)

The safehouse was _tiny_ , a single room apartment in a dark, snow-covered tenement block that had nothing to say for it but a working lock and unbroken windows. Steve was leaning against the wall, ostensibly on watch, but there were no neighbors, no sounds but the muffled hiss of snow on the windows. It was a reminder of how quickly he'd become accustomed to all the space available now; the Steve he'd been a decade (or a century, the small voice in his head reminded him) ago would have been completely at home here. 

Even the company could be said to be familiar. But like the room, it was only familiar in a way that reminded him of how the differences were what he'd become accustomed to.

Bucky-- _James, he was called James now_ \-- was still in his tac gear. He was seated on the floor against the opposite wall breaking down his weapons for cleaning. His legs stretched into the room, taking up _so much space_ , and Steve continually found his gaze dragged to him, helpless as he'd ever been against Bucky's gravity.

"What?" Even his voice was different, stripped of accent except the trace of Russian that invaded his vowels whenever he spent time around Natasha. Steve blinked, realizing that James had stopped his cleaning and was watching him with the flat stare he always seemed to have on ops. 

"What?"

"You have something to say, then say it."

"I… What?" Steve frowned, glancing around the room to see if that had prompted the sudden break in silence. Silence was how they spent most of their time, unless they had someone else there to help cut the tension.

James continued to stare before shaking his head, a gesture that was new and familiar in the same instant. "You stare." And then, "When you think I'm not looking, you do it."

The tight feeling in his chest was so familiar. He _knew_ he stared. Had always stared, even though the Bucky-that-was had never noticed it. And why would he? Bright as the brightest lights in the city, always smiling, laughing. Bucky had commanded attention without effort. _Everyone_ watched him, turning like flowers to follow his sun.

The silence stretched, filling the room like the feeling in Steve's chest. James continued to watch Steve, expression indecipherable. And another difference, as Bucky had always been one to laugh off any situation before it became uncomfortable.

Finally he sighed. "Sorry. Habit, I guess." James continued to watch, so he continued. "I guess part of me is always surprised you're…." He waved a hand, as if that could encompass everything that was both _Bucky_ and _James_ all at once.

That prompted a shift in expression, at least. James grimaced, eyes falling from Steve to the gun beside him. "I'm not. And I won't be."

A flash of panic filled him. "You're… leaving?"

James glanced up again, his expression no longer blank, but matter of fact. "Of course. Now that I'm cleared for duty, they'll take me off training wheels milk runs with you and set me up with something in Headquarters."

And wasn't that the twist of the knife. "Oh. You should have said you wanted…."

"What I want is irrelevant. It's what they will do. The only reason I'm still with you now is they're wondering if I'm going to go unstable. You're the only one who has any hope of containing me."

Steve shook his head, though he wasn't certain if he was denying the words or the truth behind them. Finally he settled on "Your wants aren't irrelevant."

"Wants are always irrelevant. They don't have any real basis in reality."

"That's not true. They give us goals. Stuff to work towards."

"Wanting to be well every winter growing up was not something you could work for. It changed nothing."

"I never gave up. Didn't curl up and die." Steve took a slow breath, consciously forcing his muscles to relax, letting the battle readiness that arguments always caused fall away.

James watched him a moment before giving a faint nod. "I concede your point in this. You can channel them for some things."

Steve thought the conversation was over, still somewhat surprised there had been any conversation at all. Time spent with James was usually silent. He went back to staring out the window at the snow outside, telling himself to _stop_ looking at James whenever his mind wandered.

"Wanting will not bring him back."

Steve's attention snapped back to James. "What?"

"Your Bucky." And James, collected James, looked _awkward_ at that, uncomfortable in a way Steve had never really seen. "He's gone."

Steve shook his head. "You're here."

James was across the room before Steve could blink; close in on his personal space. "Bucky is _gone_. He's not coming back. It's just me, and I'm never going to be him again." 

And James was _angry_ , angry like Steve hadn't seen directed at himself since he'd fallen from the Helicarrier. He tensed, prepared for _this_ to be the thing that caused violence between them.

"I know you're not. I'm… I can mourn his loss, what happened to _you_ , but… I know you're not the same."

James was so close. The smell of him, smoke, sweat, and gunpowder filled his nose, the hot puff of breath against his chin, the very warmth of him, running hot from his own serum, but always warm to Steve. He caught himself swaying forward. Reached out with a hand instead. 

He clasped James' shoulder, and this was different. They didn't touch, not like this. They hadn't since James was Bucky and Steve was… whatever he had been before waking up. 

It wasn't until he gave it a squeeze, to try and cover the sudden awkwardness he felt, that he realized it was metal under the coat. James' expression had gone back to unreadable, and Steve felt the blood begin rushing up his neck and across his ears and face. "Sorry. Does that hurt?"

James shook his head, his expression remaining indecipherable. "You weren't lovers, were you? I would have remembered that."

Steve let his hand drop, certain his smile was now pained. The tightness in his chest had spread, and he felt ill with it. But he couldn't lie, he owed James that much. "We weren't. Never."

"He-- _I_ didn't know." 

He couldn't tell if it was intended to be a statement or a question, but answered it anyway. "Everyone loved Bucky."

"Not like you did."

Steve laughed, harsh and painful. He crossed his arms, knowing James would read every measure of defensiveness in the action. "I'm sure plenty did."

James shook his head. "I'd remember that, too. I always knew, just… not what it meant."

Steve rubbed his hands over his face, wanting to back away, get away from the heat and the smell and the feeling of James so close, so close, but stuck with the wall against his back. "Yeah, well."

Another painful moment before James took a half-step back. "Guess I'm sorry, then. You couldn't have him while you wanted him."

"James--" Steve huffed a sigh. "It's not. I was never going to _have_ Bucky. I was always completely aware of that. Fine with that. I didn't expect… I don't think I would have known what to do if I _did_."

"Then why were you trying so hard to save me?"

"Because you're you! You didn't… No one deserves what happened to you! You're…." He took a moment to breathe, before continuing at a lower volume. "You're not going to be Bucky again, I get that. But you deserve the chance to… to see what you are. What you are going to be." He looked down, unable to continue to meet James' unblinking stare. "And, hell, Bucky went to war. We both did. Neither of us were going to go home to Brooklyn the same, anyway."

After a moment of silence, James finally spoke again. "But you wish. You want."

"Fantasy is different from reality."

The line between James' eyebrows grew deep as he studied Steve's expression. "You… believe that."

"I would have been happy, blissfully happy, being friends with you like we talked about during the war. Married, neighbors, a baseball team's worth of kids between the two of us."

"It's not a… problem… working with me."

"Why would it be?"

"Because you love... him. You miss him."

"You." Steve corrected, and then sighed. "I don't want you to leave because... I still can't believe you're here. That we're here together."

James shook his head. "I'm not him."

"You are _you_." And Steve reached out, because it didn't matter that they didn't touch anymore, grabbing ahold of the cold metal of James' hand and raising it between them. "All this? You're _you_ in all the ways that matter."

The quiet hum of the plates in James' arm recalibrating was loud in the ensuing silence, and Steve could only watch as he looked between Steve's face and their hands clasped between them. His head was buzzing, extremities tingling. He felt at once present and separated from himself. He couldn't believe he was standing here, that he was talking about the things he'd spent his whole life not saying. He knew it would hit him eventually, that the sick feeling from earlier would be back, break through the numbness. But he couldn't risk losing _James_ to the imagined ghost of Bucky.

And then he couldn't think, because the cool metal tightened around his fingers, and James leaned up and _kissed_ him.

It was hard. James' closed lips were firm against his, and unpracticed in a way that Bucky had never been in all the times Steve had seen him kissing his dates. It was… strange. Steve felt like he was trapped between the desire to push forward, to let his lips slide, to open, to kiss James the way he'd always dreamed of. But the larger part of him placed his free hand on James' chest and pushed. "Stop. James."

The metal still around his hand tightened sharply, and he hissed a breath.

"Why?" James' expression was still strangely blank, but there was something feral in his eyes that caused Steve's breath to catch.

"Because." Steve swallowed as James stepped forward, once again filling his personal space. "Because you don't. You don't want this."

James blinked slowly. "I don't know if I want this. I want to see if I do. I can do this _now_. I can do what you never got from Bucky."

James leaned in again, dropping Steve's hand in favor of wrapping both hands around the back of his neck, pulling him close. He was holding too tightly, the threat of violence hovering with every soft noise from the arm, and this time when James kissed him it was… different.

James' lips were still hard on his, but they clung with the press. His stubble dragged and rubbed, almost painfully so, and he had shoved Steve so tightly against the wall, he could barely catch his breath.

And Steve wanted nothing more than to fall into it, to continue to kiss James, to pull him close until it was impossible to tell where one ended and the other began. But everything about this was wrong.

"James. Stop." He jerked his head back, breaking enough of the grip James still had on his neck that he could feel the scrape of fingers, metal and flesh, against his neck. He resisted the urge to rub his mouth where it was raw and irritated. "Stop."

He had to close his eyes for a moment, unable to take James looking so _alive_ before him. His face was flushed with color, lips red and wet, eyes _present_ in a way Steve had almost forgotten. He looked such a painfully perfect amalgamation of Bucky and James that Steve had to push again, had to protect himself.

"Why?" And even his _voice_ was perfect. Hoarse and thick, sounding like everything Steve had ever dreamed.

"This isn't fair."

The divot in James' brow came back, and he frowned, hands slackening. "What isn't?"

"This!"

The expression leeched from James' face again. "You want this. I want this."

"Do you? Do you know how much I want _you_? Or are you doing this because of Bucky?"

James' expression tightened, and he used the hands still on Steve's neck to shift his head until he was meeting the sharp focus of James' attention. His thumbs felt like they left bruises on his jaw. "Are _you_ doing this because of Bucky?"

"What? Stopping you?"

James shook his head, then leaned in once again. This time the kiss was gentle, coaxing, and Steve had to respond. He chased James' kisses until James pulled away again. "Are you kissing me or kissing Bucky?"

Steve swallowed around the lump in his throat. "James."

"Then prove it." James leaned in again, continuing to mouth sweet kisses against him.

"This isn't fair…" Steve protested again, even as his hands moved almost of their own volition, digging into the straps of the tac suit and pulling James even closer.

James pulled away. "It isn't," he agreed. Then he rolled his hips, dragging the hard ridge of his cock against Steve's. Steve's head fell back against the wall with a thunk and James mouthed biting kisses down the line of his throat.

Steve hissed at a particularly strong bite, hips rutting upward again, and wrapped his fingers in James' hair, pulling his head away to kiss back, desperate. 

He wasn't sure how long they'd been there, brain feeling kiss-drunk and caught between panic and _finally_ , before there was the clink of metal on metal, and he felt James' hand tugging on his belt.

"What?" Steve pulled away, immediately distracted by the heady flush on James' face. "You're you."

James glanced down briefly, tugging open Steve's pants, before looking back up at him. "Yeah." Steve's fingers tightened in James' hair, tried to pull him into a kiss, but James continued to stare at him, his expression challenging, as he _finally_ reached into Steve's pants, metal hand glinting dully as he pulled his cock free. 

"Fuck." Steve clenched his jaw at the cool touch around his dick. He was torn between the desire to thrust forward into the tight smooth grip or pull away from the threat of the metal. James gave no quarter, hand beginning to slide, too tight but so very, very good, up and down, never dropping his challenging gaze.

"It's me, not him." James twisted his wrist, grip still artificially smooth around Steve's cock.

"James," Steve breathed. "I know." He took another breath, letting himself go enough to thrust into James' stroke. Steve reached out, pulling James into a kiss, tongue sliding deep.

There was a moment when Steve thought James wouldn't return the kiss, would simply pull on Steve's cock while passively allowing him to maul his mouth. The thought was almost enough to make him pull away. But then, with a quiet noise, James was kissing him again, and more than kissing, rubbing his erection against Steve's thigh in time with the movement of his arm.

Steve worked his fingers from where they'd twisted in the straps of James' tac suit, feeling the tingle of returning bloodflow as he slid them down and around, searching for the sliver of skin between James' trousers and jacket.

The skin there was smooth and hot; strangely _vulnerable_ in the gap of his armor. And even though James' hand was still tight and rough on his cock, even though Steve had gripped and grabbed James' hair, kissed and licked and bit his mouth, Steve couldn't help but give that small bit of skin the most tentative of touches.

James shuddered at that, skin quivering and breath hot in Steve's mouth. Then he pulled away from the kiss with a sound like a dying thing, hand stilling as well. He stared a moment into Steve's eyes, expression indecipherable, pupils blown. 

Steve didn't know what James was looking for. He reached down, gently pulling James' hand from his cock before bringing it to his mouth, pressing a firm kiss to the palm. The metal was surprisingly cold where it hadn't been in contact with skin, and he gently rubbed his cheek against it, attention never leaving James' face.

James' breath hitched, fingers clenching around Steve's. Steve moved the fingers to his lips, brushing a brief kiss to the knuckle before letting his tongue dart out, tasting the metal. "Do you feel this?"

James nodded, then shook his head. "Pressure. Temperature." He swallowed, staring at Steve's mouth. 

Steve nodded, sucking a finger into his mouth and letting it clink quietly against his teeth. The feeling was strange, the metal felt large and dangerous in in a way that a flesh and blood finger did not. But watching the hitch in James' breathing, feeling the way his hips bucked unconsciously against him, was worth it.

James pulled his finger from Steve's mouth, cupping his face and leaning in for another kiss. Everything slowed down, then. Whatever fury had lain in the first kisses mellowed, and hands drifted, lips clinging like honey as they rocked against each other. 

Steve was aware of _everything_ about James, the smell of his skin, the brush of his lips, the unyielding grip of one hand and the gentle brush of the other. It was all he could do to hold on, to kiss back, to grasp James as tightly as he could, as if at any moment he would disappear.

Then James' hands were moving with purpose, and he wrestled Steve's pants down below his hips, leaving them in an awkward bunch mid-thigh. Steve tried to help, going for the buckles closing the front of James' trousers, but James swatted him away, wrenching them open himself with a force that left the straps split and dangling. James sighed as he pulled his own cock out, heavy and hard, and Steve grimaced in sympathy for the release from stiff canvas.

Steve swallowed around the thickness in his throat. He'd seen James naked before; he'd even seen him erect back in the early mornings of _Bucky_ , when space and privacy between them had been so foreign as to be unthinkable. 

Now he stared. Reached. Let his hand trace a too-gentle path across the satiny smooth skin. Thought briefly about pushing James back, dropping down, swallowing his length. 

But James' breathing hitched and he whined, hips rocking hard enough to knock Steve back into the wall again. Steve pulled his hand away long enough to spit into his palm, lining up their cocks and pulling them together. 

James tipped his head back, letting out a harsh, juddering breath as Steve thrust, cocks dragging together. Steve leaned forward, running his teeth lightly along the tendon of James' neck before sucking hard on the tender skin there. James thrust at that, and his hand, the flesh one, reached down, fingers lacing with Steve's, around their cocks. The metal hand reached up, caressing Steve's face with a gentle caution. 

Steve pulled away from James' neck and nuzzled into the touch, letting James' thumb slide along his lips. He pressed another kiss there, before letting it into his mouth. His tongue traced the barely-perceptible seams in the metal as he thrust his cock into the warm friction of skin. James watched him, the blankness of his surprise still lending James a _presence_ in the moment that so often he divorced himself from. 

And James _was_ present, dragging their joined hands along their cocks, breath harsh and loud and entirely different from his usual silence. Steve wanted to close his eyes, to lose himself in the feeling of their hands entwined, of the thumb, strange and metal but beloved, in his mouth. 

Then the thumb was gone and James was kissing him. Kissing him again and again, desperately, tongue sliding into Steve's mouth, fingers caressing his face with the tenderest touch. They were pressed so closely that Steve could feel the hanging buckles of James' trousers scraping his thighs, and their hands could no longer pull, bracketed too tightly between them.

It didn't matter. The heat and pressure, the fact that his cock was tucked against James', that they were here _together_ , left him reeling, feeling too close. He felt breathless in a way that had nothing and everything to do with how the taste and smell and feeling of James was filling him completely.

James seemed less caught, and he pulled away far enough to stare at Steve again. Steve gasped a breath, filling his lungs until they ached, unable to focus beyond the expression on James' face as it tipped slowly toward a familiar smugness.

Steve could feel his balls drawing tight, and he slowed the movement of their hands, wanting to draw out this moment. James smirked slightly, leaning in again and nipping lightly at his jaw, thrusting into their joined hands. "Come on," he breathed into Steve's ear, and Steve groaned as he was was pulled over, spilling hot and wet between them.

James' breath hitched, and he let Steve slide from their grip. Steve tightened his hand as soon as he was free, rubbing his mess into James' cock. James groaned, head dropping heavily on Steve's shoulder, untwining their hands in favor of clinging to Steve. 

Steve twisted his grip, pulling again, rubbing his thumb over the slit on each upstroke. "Fuck." James' teeth clenched around the word, and his hips thrust with each pull of Steve's hand. Steve buried his face in James' hair, breathing in the scent of him as he pulled faster, harder, until James came with a wrecked groan and collapsed against him.

The sound of their breathing was loud, and Steve spared a moment to wonder when the snow had stopped, leaving them the only thing in the silence. Then James huffed a laugh, nuzzling his head further into Steve's chest. "Haven't done that in a while."

Steve reached up, brushing his hand lightly through the tangles in James' hair. "What's a few decades between friends?"

James pulled back, expression once again unreadable as he examined Steve's face. Then he shrugged, giving him a tug away from the wall. "Cold out. Should clean up. Get some sleep."

Steve hiked his trousers back up over his hips as James did the same, grimacing at the broken straps. "Think I've still got a clean towel in the bag."

James nodded and crossed the room, rummaging in Steve's bag and pulling out the white towel. He wiped his chest and then tossed it to Steve. "Cold night," he repeated, looking everywhere but at Steve. "Should bundle up."

Steve felt something in his chest loosen, and he smiled as he wiped up the mess. "Might be better to forego watch, keep together. Warmer, at least."

James nodded shortly. "More blankets that way."

He reached out, brushing his fingers against James' shoulder. James stilled, then glanced up at him. "I mean…. Too cold to sleep alone."

"Too cold to sleep alone," Steve agreed.


End file.
